His expression turned wistful. “The rumors started shortly after that, rumors about the Lady who’d stood against the Dark One, who’d fought alone against their foe to give the others the time they needed to get away. They say that though the Dark One was able to defeat her, her power was so great that he was unable to destroy her completely. He was forced to imprison her instead, in a tower that rose over the city, a tower built overnight by the hands of a thousand demons summoned just for that task.”
“The Lady in the Tower,” Cade said, wonderingly.
Malevarius nodded. “Some say they’ve seen her. Here, in this city, free of her chains and the confines of the Tower. They say that at the moment when all is lost, when death looms near and there is no way out, she sometimes appears to those who believe and rescues them from certain destruction, just as she rescued those in the city before its fall.”
“And you? Do you believe that?” Cade asked.
Malevarius shrugged again, “I don’t know what I believe. I’ve never seen the Lady myself, but I suppose anything is possible, especially in this god-forsaken place. I can tell you that I’ve seen the Tower, once, when the ship I was on drifted off course and came too close to the Isle. It rises above the ruins, a long narrow arm thrust up into the sky, and something about it gives one a deep sense of loneliness and despair just to look at it.”
After that, Malevarius didn’t want to talk much and the conversation petered off. Perhaps it was for the best, because the Templars were exhausted and they needed to get some rest. If word came that Duncan had been found, they were going to have to move quickly. The barman fetched them some blankets and, believing themselves to be secure, the two men settled down for some much needed sleep.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Cade awoke to find Riley kneeling beside him, gently shaking his arm. Malevarius stood just behind him, a nervous scowl on his face. Of his daughter Penelope, there was no sign.
As Cade rubbed the sleep from his eyes and gathered together his gear, his partner filled him in.
“One of Malevarius’ contacts has sent word that Duncan was seen less than an hour ago, headed for a ship anchored just offshore. And get this – rumor has it that the vessel is bound for the Isle of Sorrows.”
A flare of hope surged in his chest. “Can we catch them?” Cade asked, looking toward Malevarius.
Malevarius shrugged. “I think I can get you passage on another ship. A captain I know owes me a favor.”
Cade nodded at the innkeeper. “Thank you.”
The other scowled. “Don’t thank me. You’re the one foolish enough to make the journey.”
Cade and Riley still had the hooded robes they’d stolen before entering the city. The dark color of the fabric hid the bloodstains reasonably well and they used them again to hide their features from casual view.
Once they were ready, the innkeeper led them out into the predawn darkness. The sun was just edging its way over the horizon and a thick fog still hung about the city, but Malevarius was taking no chances. He avoided all of the major thoroughfares, sticking instead to the back streets and alleys where traffic would be minimized and there would be less chance of encountering a patrol.
Eventually, they came upon a thick wall that stretched along the far side of the street. Malevarius motioned them in close.
“This is the outer wall of the city. We have to follow it to the Winding Stair and from there make our way down to the wharves below.”
“Roger that,” Cade said and gestured that they should continue on.
Eventually the wall itself came to an end and the trio cautiously peered around it at the scene splayed out below.
A massive stairway, at least several hundred feet in length and wide enough to allow ten men to walk abreast, led down from where they stood to the shoreline below. An equally ambitious series of docks had been constructed there in the shelter of the bay. A number of ships were currently docked along the wharves, vessels from a bewildering array of times and cultures. A Viking longship, or drakkar, was moored near a modern sailing yacht, like those used in the America’s Cup race. A World War II freighter was just entering the bay, its funnels pouring out a thick column of black smoke, while by its side sailed a galleon that would have looked perfectly at home in the waters off the coast of the New World in the days of the Colonies. Like the mishmash of architectural styles that made up the city itself, the vessels in the harbor were cast offs from several historical periods, a hodgepodge of style and purpose.
They descended the stair and entered the wharf district, eventually reaching the docks themselves. Malevarius was careful to approach only those captains that he knew personally, doing what he could to limit their exposure.
Two hours and eleven ships later, they were forced to admit defeat. None of the captains were willing to take them on as passengers, particularly when the captains discovered where they wanted to go. Malevarius pleaded with several of them on the Templars’ behalf, but the answer was always the same.
Not a chance.
The three of them knew that time was running out. So far they had avoided any sign of the authorities, but word was bound to leak out about the two strangers looking for passage to the Isle of Sorrows and that was enough to gain them official attention, never mind their culpability in the death of the two Dreadnoughts the night before. And every passing moment allowed Bishop to put more distance between them, taking Duncan farther and farther out of their reach.
Cade was all but ready to steal a ship and strike out on their own, when he noticed a tall hooded figure staring at them from the shadows of a nearby doorway, a long, narrow shaft in one hand. Something about the figure was familiar.
Malevarius noticed the other’s interest at about the same time and he took Cade’s arm, turning him away from the stranger. “You don’t want anything to do with them.”
Curious, Cade resisted. “Why not? What’s wrong?”
“That’s one of the Ferrymen. No one sane has anything to do with them.”
“The Ferrymen?” Something stirred at the back of Cade’s mind and then the memory came flooding back, he and Duncan trapped in an unfamiliar part of the Beyond during the operation against the Necromancer, deep water at their backs and spectres closing in on them from the front, the strange hooded figure piloting the narrow reed boat that had pulled them off the shoreline just in time, a figure that had turned out to be Gabrielle in disguise.
He broke the barman’s hold on his arm and rushed toward the hooded figure, shouting, “Gabrielle!”
He skidded to a stop directly before the other, hope flaring in his chest, and only then realized his mistake.
This was not Gabrielle.
The Ferryman was at least seven feet tall and he seemed to tower over Cade. His robes hid him from view, but the hand holding his staff was withered, the skin stretched so tightly over the bones that it looked as if they might burst through the flesh at any second.
“Sorry. My mistake,” Cade said and began to back away.
The Ferryman’s hand shot out and grabbed Cade’s arm.
A voice sounded in his head.
“You are looking for passage? I will take you.”
Cade was standing there, staring in dumb amazement, when his companions reached him.
“We’re very sorry, good sir. Completely our mistake,” said Malevarius, “if you would just let go of my friend we will be moving on and won’t be any further burden.”
As if from a distance Cade heard himself say, “It’s okay. We’re going with him.”
The Ferryman released him and stepped back, waiting.
“What!” Malevarius said. He pulled Cade and Riley off to the side, speaking in an urgent whisper so as not to offend the Ferryman.
“No one travels with the Ferrymen, if they can help it, no one. Heaven only knows what they want or what happens to those who accept travel, for none have ever been seen again.”
But Cade wasn’t to be deterred. Something about th
e connection between Gabrielle’s appearance as one of their number and the way the Ferryman had sought him out felt right to him. He knew, knew, that they were supposed to make the journey in this fashion, though he couldn’t have told his companions just how.
Cade asked Malevarius to handle the negotiations, insisting when the other man objected, and at last he agreed to do so. As the barman walked over to the Ferryman, Cade turned to Riley.
“This is our way to the Isle. I’m sure of it.”
“Fine with me, boss. Just so we get out of this city before any more of the Dreadnoughts show up, I’ll be happy.”
And so it was settled. Malevarius returned, telling them their passage had been arranged, and the three men said their goodbyes. The Templars then followed the Ferrymen a few hundred yards farther down the docks to where his boat waited for them.
Seeing it, Cade almost changed his mind.
It could just barely be called a boat. It was about fifteen feet long, a narrow vessel made from some kind of reed-like substance, without sail or even obvious means of locomotion. There wasn’t much room and it was a good thing that the knights didn’t have much equipment with them; it probably wouldn’t have fit on board. A narrow bench on either side of the prow was the only place for passengers to sit, unless they chose the floor.
The Ferryman indicated they should board the vessel with one sweep of his arm and, before he could think twice and change his mind, Cade clambered aboard.
Riley quickly followed.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Eschewing the seats, which didn’t look large enough to hold them, the two knights settled down on the floor of the boat, doing what they could to get comfortable despite the narrow confines. Once they were ready, the Ferryman stepped to his place at the rear of the boat and placed his staff over the side.
Cade expected him to use the staff the way you would use a pole on a raft, pushing it against the river bottom and moving them one stroke at a time, but the Ferryman apparently didn’t need to. No sooner had the staff entered the water that the boat got underway, as if by magick. They glided away from the dock, smoothly navigated around the numerous boats moving in and out of the harbor and in no time at all were in deeper water, headed for the open sea.
The passage to the Isle took several hours. Cade tried a number of times to engage their captain in conversation, but each time the Ferryman simply looked at him, not saying a word, and eventually Cade gave up. Riley, too, seemed reticent to talk and so Cade spent most of the journey lost in thought, wondering what was left in store for him when he returned to the other side.
“Land ho!” Riley shouted, sometime later, and Cade looked up to see a vast island rising out of the water in the distance. As they drew closer, they began to make out details.
It was big, probably several miles in length, at least from this angle. It was covered in a deep green carpet of jungle and the cone of its volcano rose high over the rest of the island. Cade glanced upward, searching for any sign that the mountain was still active, and froze at what he saw.
There, high above the jungle, was a massive hole in the sky. That was the only way he could describe it. It was as if two great hands had grasped the fabric of the sky and torn it asunder, opening up a giant rift in the fabric of reality.
“He will find me across the Sea of Lamentation, on the Isle of Sorrows beneath the tear in the sky.”
Cade’s heart beat faster. They had followed Duncan to the one place in the world Cade wanted to venture to most. Now all he had to do was rescue both his friend and the soul of his wife.
With Riley at his side, he felt like he could do anything and he clapped his companion on the shoulder, both of them laughing aloud at having reached their destination.
The Ferryman gasped, the first sound either of his passengers had heard him make, and they twisted around to see what he was looking at.
Off to starboard a huge wave was rushing toward them. It had to be at least twenty feet tall and on its heels came a wall of darkness so thick that it had to be unnatural.
In seconds the storm was upon them.
It raged like a living thing, the winds howling around them, the waves cresting high overhead and then smashing down with the force of an artillery barrage, threatening to throw them overboard into the hungry maw of the sea itself. The Templars clung to the gunwale, their legs braced against the sides of the narrow boat, terrified that at any moment the boat would be overturned.
The Ferryman stood in defiance against it all, never leaving his post, keeping one end of his staff in the water at all times, keeping them upright and afloat against the power of the maelstrom seemingly with his will alone.
They were at the mercy of the sea and wind, however, and it quickly became obvious that they were being forced far off course, the island receding so quickly in the distance and the boat being tossed about so much by the storm that they lost all sense of direction. And still, the storm beat at them, driving them farther and farther off, tossing and turning them amongst the waves. When it got particularly bad, he roped himself against the side of the boat, tossing the other end to the two knights and pantomiming that they should do the same.
Riley and Cade were only too happy to comply.
Eventually, the power of the storm lessened and then finally petered out.
Seated in several inches of water, soaked to the skin and exhausted from the ordeal, the two men breathed a sigh of relief when the Ferryman untied himself from the rope and looked out at the water around them.
The sea was calm, quiet even.
But in the silence after the storm, a new problem reared its head.
The Ferryman stood in the prow of the boat, staff in hand, looking out toward the horizon. After a moment he moved aft and repeated the process, gazing off into the distance so intently that, watching him, Cade could almost imagine that he was searching for the very secrets of life itself rather than the direction in which to resume their travel.
This went on for several moments, back and forth, until Cade began to grow concerned. He was just about to say something when the Ferryman seemed to make up his mind and took up his customary position near the rear of the boat. He lifted his staff, preparing to get them underway, only to put it back down again without ever placing it in the water.
Cade’s concern grew into alarm.
“What’s wrong?”
The Ferryman turned its hooded countenance toward him but didn’t say anything.
“We’re lost, aren’t we?” Cade asked.
Cade didn’t expect an answer. The Ferryman had yet to say anything, even in the midst of the danger they’d faced, and the Templar knight had become convinced that their hooded guide was incapable of speech. So when the Ferryman looked out across the dark waters surrounding them and said, “Yes,” in a croaking rasp that sounded as if his voice hadn’t been used in years, perhaps decades, Cade was understandably surprised.
Apparently Riley was too.
“Lord help us,” Echo’s executive officer said.
For once, Cade agreed with him.
Then Cade noticed Riley was staring at him oddly.
“What is it?” he asked.
Riley, completely at a loss for words, could only point.
Cade looked down, wondering just what had his teammate spooked so badly.
The feather he wore about his neck was straining against the leather thong to which it had been attached, lifting itself up off his skin and pointing away across the open water.
A voice echoed in Cade’s mind, the voice of the angel who had given him the strange trophy.
“You will need this, son of Adam.”
Now, at last, Cade understood why.
Apparently the Ferryman did as well, for no sooner had he seen the direction in which the feather was pointing than he put his staff in the water, turned the boat in that direction, and gotten them underway.
Cade had always believed that the feather had belonged to the angel Baraquel, the
enemy vanquished by the Echo Team in the depths of the Eden Complex several months before. After all, it had been given to him shortly after Echo had stood down from that mission. Now he suspected that he’d been wrong, that the feather actually originated from the wings of Cade’s nemesis, the Adversary, and right now it was leading them to him in much the same way a compass needle with point toward magnetic north. Somehow the feather and the Adversary were connected.
Their journey continued. When it began to get dark, the Ferryman took a brass lantern out of a storage chest and hung it on hook attached to his staff, apparently just for that purpose. He passed a hand over one of its grimy windows and a deep blue flame sprung up inside, lighting their way. A few hours later Riley spotted land on the horizon for the second time that day.
It didn’t take them long to get close enough to see that they had once more reached their destination. There was the same spit of land jutting out into the ocean, the same mountain rising high above the shoreline. And the most telling feature of all, that same strange tear in the sky high above the jungle that covered most of the island.
They were still several hundred yards from shore when the boat began to slow. Cade turned to ask what was happening, only to be handed a large pole with an iron hook on one end. Riley received one just like it. Without a word the Ferryman turned back to his station. When Cade stood there, not understanding the Ferryman waved him toward the front of the boat.
Cade moved to the prow and looked down. Now he understood. Thick, twisted strands of dark colored seaweed were bunched together ahead of them, forming a carpet-like structure that stretched ahead of them almost all the way to the beach. Clearly the boat was not going any farther unless they created a path through the obstruction, which was what the hooks were for.
The Templar Chronicles Omnibus Page 55
